A Turn for the Worse
by Not-What-It-Looks-Like
Summary: Abandoned after freshman year, Charlie had to find a way to survive the cruel world of high school. Unfortunately, he did this in a way that shocks and horrifies his returning friends. Can the old island of misfit toys band together this summer and save Charlie from what he's become and get their beloved wallflower back? ((Reviews welcome!))
1. Chapter 1: Reunited, And It Feels So---

Sam cursed at the car in front of her. The man was clearly blind and half asleep. It was slowpokes like this that had made her run nearly an hour late for meeting her old group of friends at Kings. And, sure, after an entire year away from each other at college what was an extra hour or so among friends? To answer her own question,_ A lot_, Sam thought angrily as the light turned green and she honked loudly at the geezer in her way. He gestured into his rear-view mirror, but she simply flipped him the bird and sped ahead past him.

It wasn't that Sam was in particularly bad spirits that day or anything. She was always a bit of a victim to road rage. And she was really desperate to see her friends again. It was three days after the start of Summer break for Penn State students, and Harvard and NYU had gotten out a week previous. Today was the first day her brother was back in town, and Sam had arranged to get the whole group - Alice, Mary Elizabeth, Bob, herself and Patrick - back together for a late lunch and hopefully a night to remember. The one person she couldn't manage to get a hold of was Charlie. And she felt guilty about that, but it wasn't as though she hadn't tried her damndest. He was simply unreachable. No phone call or letter seemed to reach him. It had been strange. For a while that school year Sam and Charlie had sent each other letters regularly. But then his came later and later and he'd always forget to return her phone calls. She'd at first been very worried that he was slipping back into some darkness she'd seen him fall into the previous summer. But one time she'd gotten a hold of his mother and managed to pry from the woman's quiet lips that Charlie was doing alright and had simply made some new friends.

And Sam was very happy for Charlie, because she had worried he would have trouble finding people after the whole group of seniors she'd brought him into were gone. She liked the idea that he was too busy having a good time to remember her. Or, at least, that was what she told herself. Sometimes the idea stung a little, but she'd always assured herself that she was being silly and that she'd easily reconnect with him this break. And now here it was, and she was finally pulling up to the Kings diner.

When she walked through the old, sticky doors, she was met with the thunderous sound of her excited and socially-uncaring friends all the way from the back booth standing and cheering as if she were John Lennon back from the dead. Blushing, she lowered her head to stifle her laughter and made her way to the back of the restaurant as high school kids turned to watch her, wondering who she could be to start such a fuss. She sat down after enduring numerous bone crushing hugs and many "Where have you been?" and "We thought you died!" type questions.

"Sorry, sorry. I got caught behind every idiot on the road today," she commented, "It was some kind of conspiracy."

"Hey," Bob pointed a fry at her, "Watch what you say about conspiracies."

Sam rolled her eyes, feeling herself melt back into who she was with them, and without a second thought leaned forward and took Bob's fry between her teeth and taking a good sized bite out of it. He made an astonished and horrified face as the rest of the gang laughed.

They talked and laughed and reminisced and caught up until their stomachs were full of deep fried disasters, their tongues tired, their cheeks sore from smiling, and their guts sore from laughter. Finally, with some hesitation, as if they worried the spell would break, they agreed to give their booth up as the restaurant grew crowded and meet back up at Bob's apartment, which he'd gotten that year after moving out of his parents' house. He warned of the utter mess it was in, but no one seemed to mind.

As Sam made her way to the exit, her friends in tow and her brother by her side, a group of riled up high schoolers were making their way through the doors. And despite her best efforts to avoid one rather tall boy, he managed to slam right into her so hard it knocked her back and into Patrick.

"Hey, watch it, Sasquach!" Mary Elizabeth said in defence of her friend.

The boy turned around and looked down, a cigarette hanging lazily from his mouth. The entire group simultaneously took in a breath as the realization struck.

It was Charlie. But it also wasn't. The boy had clearly had a growth spurt. On top of that, his hair was gelled and combed back and he wore a leather jacket. He looked like some kind of John Travolta from_ Grease_ wannabe. It was enough to make Sam feel sick.

"Hey! Sam!" he said, reaching an apish hand out and thumping her hard between the shoulder blades. "How are you?" But his voice was too loud, and his eyes only stayed on her a second before turning back to chuckle at some comment one of the other guys from the group had made. It was clear he had no true interest in how her day was going. And it had been going pretty well. Up until now.

"Charlie," she said, almost too softly to be heard, "What... What happened to you?"

"What do you mean?" he asked, smiling as if she'd said something funny. He nodded to his friends and they headed to find a booth without him, a few patting him on the shoulder or punching him lightly in the arm as they did so.

"I mean..." she motioned to his outfit at a loss for words.

"You like it? Christmas present!" Charlie said, popping the collar and spinning on his heels to give the gang a nice 360-degree view. Mary Elizabeth nearly choked on her own disgusted laughter and Patrick's jaw dropped open. Sam felt her gut drop into her toes.

"Well, it was nice seeing you," he said, patting Sam's shoulder and giving Patrick a slight slap on the side, "Hit me up sometime, we can catch up." And he walked off to find the few guys he'd walked in with.

Outside of Kings, everyone stood out in the parking lot. Despite the summer night air, they all felt unusually cold. Patrick was the first person to voice what they'd all been thinking:

"Who the fuck was _that_?"

* * *

**AN**: So there you have it! Hope you enjoyed. Please leave a review and let me know what your thoughts were on the introduction and the set up for the story!


	2. Chapter 2: The Plan Of Attack

The drive over to Bob's was an eerie kind of silent. The whole gang was in Sam's truck: Sam driving, Patrick riding shotgun, and Mary Elizabeth, Alice, and Bob sitting in the bed. No one turned on the radio. No one screamed out the window. No one stood and put their hands up and flew.

The elevator ride was the same.

They found their places in the living space - Patrick being his normal prima dona self and stretching out to take over the whole couch, leaving the rest of the gang to sit in a circle on the floor. Except Sam. She stood leaning against the wall a few feet back. - And Bob passed out cheap beer and placed a bowl of slightly stale chips on the tiny end table. All this happened with nothing more than a few grunts and mumbles. It was clear: The encounter with black haired boy in the leather jacket who'd stolen their innocent freshman friend's face had sucked all the energy from the group.

After everyone finished off their first drink, Mary Elizabeth mumbled: "What the hell could've happened to him?"

The whole group in unison shook their heads. No one had an answer. Except Sam. She was staring out the window. And she said, "It was me."

"What do you mean?" Bob asked, handing out the second round.

"I mean," Sam said, bitterly, "I should have picked up on something. I wrote him all year long. I should have dug deeper when he started getting... estranged."

"Sam, come on, you couldn't have known he'd gone full out T-Bird on you," Patrick said.

"I should have known before," she replied, more to herself than anyone else.

"But what_ happened_, you know? What did that little idiot do to land him in_ that_ crowd?" That was Mary Elizabeth.

Sam shook her head. So did Patrick. Bob took a cigarette out, and everyone took one from his pack without asking. He passed his lighter around.

Alice said, "Maybe he's possessed." And it was the first time since leaving the diner everyone laughed. But it was a sad kind of laugh.

"It does seem like the only logical explanation," Mary Elizabeth conceded.

They were quiet again. Picturing Charlie the way they'd left him. Looking forward to sophomore year. Quiet. Content. Thoughtful.

And then the way they'd left him at King's just then. With that group of rowdy underclassmen. Loud. Boisterous. Lumbering. Thickskulled.

It was enough to make anybody lose their appetite. But maybe that was the stale potato chips at work, too.

"So what are we going to do about it?" Mary Elizabeth asked by the time everyone was substantially more drunk.

"Call a priest?" said Alice.

"Call his parents?" said Bob.

"Cry?" said Patrick.

Sam shook her head. At this point she'd flopped down alongside her step brother and was sitting in a rather unladylike position. Fortunately no one really cared for posture at the moment, and she put her glass down and leaned forward, overly dramatic when drunk as many of the group tended to be. The rest of the gang leaned in to hear what she had to say, the ringleader of this particular situation. Because they all knew of everyone there Sam knew Charlie best and if anyone could find him in that mass of leather and grease it was her.

Sam said, "We do just like he told us to. We - I - call him. And we'll catch up. I'll find out what the hell happened to him, and..." She trailed off. Her intoxicated mind hadn't worked the scheme out much past that point.

"And...?" Patrick said, skeptically. The gang knew things were bleak when Patrick was being the voice of reason.

And, trying to sound more resolute than she felt, Sam answered:

"And we go from there."

* * *

**AN: Cliffhanger? sort of. I keep ending with that****_ dramatic final statement_**** thing. Sorry about that. I'll try to vary it next chapter. Hate to have made you all wait, but I had a lot of life going on lately. **

**Anyway, there you have it! Chapter 2! I went back in and added names to the first chapter and this one too. **

**Well here's the part where I ask for your commentary because I'm scatterbrained and self-conscious and need motivation to ever get anything done ever. Okay! See everybody soon - please review!**


	3. Chapter 3: Preparation & Pep Talks

It had taken a while. First to get a hold of Charlie, and then to arrange a time to meet. In the time they'd been away it seemed to Sam he had lost almost all his phone etiquette. One time when she rung him the conversation had gone:  
"Yeah?"  
"Is this the Kelmeckis house?"  
"Mhh-hmm." He sounded like he was doing something.  
"Charlie?"  
"Yep."  
"It's Sam."  
There was a pause. "Oh, hey."  
Had he forgotten who she was for a minute? The thought made her feel like her throat had swollen shut.  
"So, listen, do you want to get together sometime soon?"  
"For what?"  
"You know, to catch up."  
Another pause. "Yeah... Okay. When did you have in mind?"  
"Tonight?"  
"Oh, sorry—" he said, but didn't sound like he meant it, "—can't tonight."  
Click! That had been it. It took several conversations like that, and by the time Sam finally worked out a good day it had been almost a week past their initial encounter. And Sam had lost almost all hope. She thought maybe Charlie would shake out of whatever persona he was putting on after talking with her enough, but the trouble was she never could quite get him to talk. And not like the old days when he was just too busy thinking. Now it was like he wasn't thinking at all. His head seemed like a snail shell, and her Charlie had crawled out to find a new home a long time ago.

She didn't let herself think about it. She just adjusted her strategy a little bit. As much as she'd hated to admit it, Charlie was acting a lot like some of the guys Sam used to date. So she found an old, cheap getup, decked on the makeup, and jumped in her truck. She was going to meet Charlie outside his house. He had wanted to meet at King's, but Sam didn't want to run the risk of his newfound friends dropping by and spoiling her efforts.

"Be careful," Patrick had said, leaning against the door of the red truck.  
"Patrick, it's Charlie."  
"No," Patrick replied, sharply, "it's not Charlie. That's my problem."  
Sam's heart had sunk, and Patrick saw it. He reached his arm in and placed his hand over hers as it sat idly on the steering wheel.  
"Hey," he said with a forced smile, "But you're going to fix that, right?"  
She smiled ruefully. "Yeah."  
"Okay then. But... until he's listening to Asleep and speaking in short, profound blips—"  
"Right. Be careful. Got it."  
"Sam he's—"  
"I know. Don't say it."  
"He's acting just like—"  
"Don't say it!"  
He stopped. She could tell the words were halfway up his throat, and after a tense moment he swallowed them back down.  
"Okay," he said, "Just be careful."  
"I will."  
"Okay."  
"Okay."  
She pulled out of the drive and headed for Charlie's. Her hands were shaking. She turned off the radio. Some terrible Top 40 song was playing. She fiddled with the stations for a few minutes, but gave up hope and punched it off. She tried not to be too melodramatic and take the bleak quality of the tunes as a sign of her successes to come.  
"It's fine, Sam," she told herself, "This is Charlie. He's in there somewhere. He's got to be."

But some part of her wondered... When she had left he had seemed so flrail. He had gotten better that summer, but how much of a blow can somebody take before they just retreat? Run away? Hide someplace and throw away the key? She never did learn exactly what had happened to Charlie the beginning of last summer. She knew it was bad. She knew it had hit his whole family hard. She knew it had something to do with a family member. She'd worked out it was probably Charlie's aunt Helen, whom he used to speak of often. But just what had happened—what had been discovered—Sam didn't know. And though it might have made her job easier now, she wasn't sure she wanted to. It scared her. She wasn't sure she was ready for it. To hear about something that had torn down someone like Charlie, who despite everything was remarkably strong and special.

She shook her head for about the dozenth time. "You can't think like that, Sam," she said outloud, "You're on a resue mission here."

She pulled up to Charlie's house, threw the car into park, and honked her horn twice lightly, then waited and watched the door.


	4. Chapter 4: I'm Looking Through You

Somebody opened the front door of the Kelmeckis house and stepped out. Sam groaned inwardly at the sight of him. It had to be Charlie. Tall, in tight jeans and a black coat over a hoodie. Sam wondered why she'd invited a thug to hang out with her.

He got in the car and closed the door harshly, making Sam's teeth chatter.

"Yo," he said with a smile, "So where we heading?"

Sam tried not to cringe as she mourned for the loss of his appreciation for the English language. _Well, at least he seems happy to see me_, she consoled herself,_ ...I think_.

"Don't know," Sam said with a shrug, adopting his laid back attitude and poor grammar. "Thought we'd just... cruise around a bit."

"In this wreck?" Charlie interrupted, motioning around the car's interior.

_Okay, ouch. That one hurt_, Sam thought, knowing full well how the real Charlie knew how much the old red truck meant to her. She swallowed her pride and ignored the comment. "I figured we could catch up some," she said, and threw the gear into drive and started off, letting her whim dictate where to go.

As they drove, the all consuming silence was ear splitting. It wasn't the comfortable kind of silence Sam was used to around Charlie. The kind she actually had grown very fond of her senior year. This was the kind of silence you endure in elevators and at bus stops with strangers. She eyed the stranger next to her, the way he was peering out the window, clearly seeing nothing, and how his hands patted out nonsense beats against his knees. He seemed utterly bored. Sam didn't blame him, but she knew she'd lose him for good if this first contact was a total bust. Looking for something to break the silence, she reached forward and punched on the radio, which was still set to one of her oldies stations. In a case of dramatic coincidence, an old song by the Beatles had just come on: _I'm Looking Through You_.

_I'm looking through you / Where did you go? / I thought I knew you / What did I know? /  
__You don't look different / But you have changed / I'm looking through you / You're not the same._

Sam's eyes were on the road so she was surprised when the music suddenly stopped playing. She looked over in time to see Charlie lean back into the passenger seat, his hand returning from the console. She sighed a little.

"So..." she said, after another long stretch of silence, making the word draw out forever. They were on the highway now, heading towards town.

"So..." Charlie mirrored, with a drop of irritation.

"Why don't you fill me in on what you did this year in school?" Sam asked, but wanted to bang her head against the steering wheel the instant the words left her mouth. _I sound like an estranged mother who just got her kids after the divorce settlement._ Her gut hurt. She knew full well how annoying that was to be on the receiving end of.

Charlie snorted a laugh. "I went through Sophomore year, _Mom_, but thanks for asking," he replied sarcastically.

"Sorry," she murmured in a small voice after another silence, "We just haven't talked for awhile. You stopped writing letters. I didn't know if something happened."

He glared through the front windshield before eventually propping his arm on the passenger door, turning towards the window and leaning his chin against his fist. "Got busy," he mumbled.

Sam wondered if she'd hit a nerve. It was the first semi-sincere thing she had heard Charlie say that day and naturally she had somehow managed to piss him off about it.

"Look, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings-" she started, but he interrupted her.

"Who said you hurt my feelings?"

"Okay," she said, losing her patience, "Well, I'd really like to reconnect here, and you're walls are all up. So to keep me from seriously consider driving us into a pole, why don't you tell me something?"

Charlie turned around and looked at her, evidently trying to determine whether or not that was an honest threat. Sam kept her eyes on the road, but Charlie's remaining two braincells rubbed together and decided against testing her.

"Alright," he said, resigned, "Well..." He shifted in his seat a little, thinking. Sam refused to interject or suggest a topic, since all her previous attempts had been shot down, and he was clearly scrounging for something to say. "I crashed my car?" he said, though it came out as more of a question.

"What? What happened?" Sam asked, concerned, "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I was fine. But it got totaled."

"What happened?"

Charlie shrugged. "Fell asleep at the wheel."

That didn't sound like Charlie at all. And even though this wasn't the Charlie Sam knew, she could smell something fishy.

"So what really happened?" she asked.

He chuckled a little, apparently amused that she saw right through him. "I might have had a bit too much to drink, then decided to drive around a little before I went home. I had the windows down, but..."

"Well, Charlie, that was stupid of you."

"I know."

"Then why'd you do it?"

"I guess I'm stupid," he said and laughed. She shook her head and forced herself not to laugh with him. It was a kind of funny response, but only in the sad way that she knew Charlie wasn't really stupid, he only acted like it sometimes.

"Did you get in a lot of trouble?" Sam asked, trying to keep alive the only relatively animate conversation they'd had so far.

"Not really. Mostly, my parents were just worried. They thought..." he trailed off.

"...What?"

He shrugged. Sam was beginning to hate that shrug.

"What?" she repeated, "Did they think you were on LSD again or something?"

"No," Charlie said, shaking his head. But his response had been too quick. Something was up.

"Then what was it?"

"Look, they were just worried, okay? I crashed my car at two in the morning, what parents wouldn't be concerned? Can we just drop it?" he asked, aggravated.

"Right... sorry."

He sighed. Some part of him had opened up. Sam could tell that much. He started tapping his foot in a nervous habit.

"You do anything fun up at Penn State?" he asked her, half hearted.

"Yeah, sure, lots of stuff."

"Want to share with the rest of the class?" he asked.

Sam giggled. "Yeah, sure, okay..." She thought a minute, "Well, I was in THON."

"What's that?"

"The dance marathon. To raise money for pediatric cancer research."

"Oh, right."

"It's the largest student-run philanthropy in the world," Sam said, quoting the hundreds of pamphlets she'd handed out on numerous canning trips.

"How was it?"

"Honestly?" she said and turned to him. Her smile was bright and genuine. He smirked back at her. "Amazing," she said, "Best weekend of my life. You don't sit down for, like, forty hours."

"Wow," he said and chuckled, "What do you do?"

"You dance! And you party with the kids. And get squirt by water guns, and drink lots of energy drinks - though, honestly, I don't even think I would have needed it, the energy in the room was electric. And it's just a really awesome time. You should come up next year. The stands are always packed."

Charlie chuckled softly. "Yeah? Maybe I will."

"You should."

"Okay."

She looked over at him. "You mean it?"

"Yeah, why not?"

"I don't know. Didn't know if you were into that."

"Into what?"

"Dancing."

He chuckled. "You know I'm not."

Sam shrugged. "Maybe you changed."

He didn't answer. They both knew he had.

* * *

**AN: **By the way, that Beatles song mentioned (which also happens to be the title of the chapter) is very good. I highly recommend giving it a listen.

But, anyway, that's part 1 of the Charlie/Sam reconnect.

I'll be honest I've been having trouble finding motivation to keep writing this. I feel like my head wants to take me two distinctly different places with it, and I'm not sure which I'm leaning towards. I guess I'll just have to see. I don't know. You guys are still interested, right? You want me to keep writing?


	5. Chapter 5: Out on the Town

**AN:** Sorry this took awhile. Enjoy! Tell me how you like it.

* * *

When Sam parked the car and got out, it took a minute for Charlie to follow. He seemed reluctant to leave the car, which Sam found cruelly ironic, considering all the effort it had taken to get him there in the first place. He wandered around onto the sidewalk and watched Sam put a few quarters in the meter. He didn't offer to help pay.

"Where are we going?" he asked when she'd zipped back up her purse, two hours paid for.

"I thought we'd walk around."

"We could see a movie," Charlie suggested.

Sam scrunched up her features and shook her head.

"What?" Charlie asked, his head falling to one side.

In honesty Sam didn't want to go to a movie because it was an excuse to not talk. And after all she'd gotten through now, two hours was enough time for Charlie to build up that annoying shell and all her effort thus far would have been wasted. She had talked about that much with Patrick, earlier.

"No movies. No performances." he had advised.

But naturally Sam couldn't actually tell Charlie that. So instead she shrugged and lied smoothly, "Nothing good's playing."

Charlie shrugged, buying it. "Fine."

"So you want to walk around?"

"I guess so."

And they did. Luckily conversation came a little smoother than it had on the ride over. Mostly Sam would make a comment or two about the people they saw walking by or the stores they passed. Charlie's responses were short and uncolorful, but at least he was talking to her. At one point, they happened by a record store and Sam stopped.

"Mind if we walk through? My collection is running a little thin."

"Whatever," Charlie said, and Sam assumed that meant he agreed.

When they walked in, it took a little wandering to find a section with decent-quality music. Most of the albums Sam already had, but she felt oddly at home and much more comfortable around the old vinyl than she had all day. Sam didn't end up buying anything. Neither did Charlie. But she was able to get him to start for a little while some talk about a few of the old artists. As they were heading out, Sam nearly lost her breakfast when Charlie stopped to skim through some of the Top 40 stuff.

"What are you doing?" she said, trying not to gag.

"Lookin'. A friend told me about a new group he likes."

Sam fidgeted uncomfortably. "Is this the type of stuff you like now?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked with a laugh.

"Just, you know, all this Top 40 pop stuff?"

"Hey, it's popular for a reason."

Sam honestly could think of no rebuttal that wouldn't alienate him completely, so she just hung back until he finished skimming and was ready to walk out.

"I used to listen to that stuff," Sam said, trying to find conversation.

"Yeah, I know." Charlie answered.

"So did Patrick."

"Right."

"But I never knew you liked it."

"You guys would have torn my throat out if you did."

"That's not true," Sam said in defense of her friends.

"Oh really?" Charlie laughed a little bitterly. "Like I wasn't always on a ledge with you guys."

"What?" Sam stopped walking. "Are you crazy?"

"Stop shouting."

"I'm not shouting," Sam said, even though people were looking as they walked by.

"Well talk softer."

"What do you mean you were 'on a ledge' with us? We were your friends."

"Yeah, sure," Charlie said. "Whatever."

"No, not whatever. What are you on about?"

Charlie dropped his hands against his sides so they slapped in frustration. "I mean this—" he pointed between them, "—this was always the crap I got whenever I said anything."

Sam just stared.

"Why do you think I never _talked? _You were all just so… pretentious."

There was a silence. Sam swallowed a few times, not sure what to say next or why her eyes were beginning to water.

Charlie stomped his foot and looked around, shoving his hands in his pockets and turning his eyes up to the sky to mutter a few choice words. "See?" he said, "It's like I can't even… no. You know what, just forget it. I shouldn't have said anything."

Sam shook her head a little.

"What?" he said.

"Nothing."

"Forget it. Forget I said anything."

"Okay."

"It was stupid."

"Fine."

"Forget it."

"I did."

Charlie glared. Quickly Sam wiped at her eyes. No tears had escaped but it felt like she needed to press an off switch to disengage the tense moment.

"Maybe we should go," Charlie said once she was recomposed.

"Yeah, okay."

They headed back to the car in silence.


	6. Chapter 6: What's going on?

**AN: **Here's a big, important chapter. Finally we uncover some of the mystery...

* * *

The car ride back was the worst Sam had ever felt heading back from town. Normally a day out was what she needed to feel refreshed. And with a friend in the passenger seat and the radio on and the windows rolled down Sam would feel like she was flying. Things would only get bad sometimes afterwards when she was back alone in her room that night, getting ready to face a Monday back in school.

But this was Summer and she felt like she'd had something stolen from her feeling as miserable as she did. The windows weren't open, the radio wasn't on, and the "friend" by her side was likely a thousand miles away inside his own head as he stared out the window.

They were well into the drive, halfway back to Charlie's house, when he finally broke the silence and said, "It's not even like music is that important."

"What?" Sam said. She wasn't angry. It wasn't even like she thought she'd misheard him. At this point she didn't think much would surprise her. And any other time she would have jumped right down someone's throat for a comment like that, but today she just turned to watching him out of the corner of her eye.

"It's like," he said, raising his hand and letting it fall in something of a shrug, "The music people listen to, that doesn't really say anything about who you are."

Sam didn't answer. She had no idea where he was going with the conversation.

"You said you got Patrick listening to 'good music' when you first met him, right? And then he stopped being popular."

"Yeah, but it wasn't like—"

"No it is. Because it's not like he would listen to music before and think about the stuff in the songs, really. It's just that the stuff you listen to you have to think to enjoy it. But… sometimes you just have to _not think, _you know? And you can't do that listening to that stuff."

"What do you mean, Charlie?" she asked. He was actually starting to sound a little like himself. But it was forced. Like he was having trouble finding the words or exactly what he meant to do with them. Like foreign territory or doing something you haven't for a really long time and having to remember how you did it before.

"I mean, it's just… Listening to 'bad music' doesn't make you a bad person."

"Okay."

"Do you know what I mean?" he said, and he turned to her. She met his gaze for a minute. He seemed more genuine than he had in a long time.

"Yeah," she answered.

"Really?" he pushed back.

"Sort of."

He just sighed.

"Well, explain it to me."

"I don't know how to. It's just, that's it."

"Okay."

"Like, try listening to some of the popular stuff," he said. When she didn't answer he went on, "You're not going to be any different after it's over."

"So?"

"So, that's my point."

Sam could tell he was growing agitated, so she agreed to it. "Okay. I will. Tonight when I get home."

"Well, don't do me any favors," he huffed.

"I'm not," she retorted.

After a few more minutes of silence, Sam pulled up to Charlie's house and parked by his driveway. No one else seemed home. Charlie began to get out but Sam stopped him.

"We should hang out again sometime," she said, not willing to give up on his just yet.

"Why?" he said, sounding almost as tired as she felt.

Sam shrugged. "It's what friends do."

Charlie coughed a laugh. "We're friends?" he asked, bitterly.

"Of course," Sam said, feeling shocked. "Look, I know you're a little mad and we kind of fought back there, but—"

"What?" Charlie stopped her, "You think _that's _what I'm mad at?"

"Well, aren't you?" Now she was really confused.

Charlie shrugged. "A little."

"But what?"

He shook his head and got out of the car.

"Wait," Sam said, but he didn't.

"Wait!" she yanked her keys and got out of the driver's side. She quickly caught up with him halfway up the driveway.

"It's nothing," he said, rolling his eyes as Sam took his arm and forced him to turn around.

"That's not true."

"How would you know?"

"Because you don't do 'just nothing.' It's not you."

"How do _you _know," he said again, this time the accusation thick in the air.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Charlie shook his head and looked past her. For a minute she thought he was looking at her car, but she kept her eyes on his and watched as his cheeks got red. He swallowed a few times and when he talked it sounded like he was keeping himself from crying.

"You left me," he said. His voice was small and strained. "You all left me."

Sam stared, her mouth open slightly. What was there to say to that?

"Charlie, we… we were seniors. We had college—"

"No," Charlie said, shaking his head. "It's like… I was this _pet _to you guys. The gang's little rabbit, or something. And then you all just left and left me sitting in the cage."

He shook his head. "I had nobody. And I had to go back to school the day after you and Patrick took he through that tunnel and you all had me thinking everything was going to be great and I'd make it through and we'd all write letters and call each other on the phone and get together during Christmas and just…" He shook his head again, harder this time, and with his eyes shut. It was like he was having some kind of waking bad dream.

"I was so convinced things were going to be okay. That I wouldn't have to write letters anymore to somebody who didn't even know I existed and…"

"Charlie," Sam took his shoulders. "Hey, calm down. Of course I knew you existed. Look, I'm really sorry I couldn't call or write as much as I thought I was going to, but I didn't ever mean for you to feel like I abandoned you, okay? None of us did. We were all really looking forward to meet back up. And Christmas… Christmas just got crazy in my family. I wrote you about it. Remember? My dad and everything, and I—"

"No, no, that's not what I'm talking about."

"What? What's wrong?"

"Look," he swiped at his face, which was now blotchy red and pale. "I said I don't want to talk about it, alright? Why can't you take a fucking hint?"

"Okay, I'm sorry. But, that doesn't mean I don't want to see you again."

"Fine, whatever. I got to get in. We're having dinner tonight as a family."

"Charlie, I—"

"I got to go, Sam," he turned and kept walking, leaving Sam alone in the driveway, holding her keys and not knowing what the hell to make of any of it.

* * *

**AN: **So there we have the big climax! Thoughts? Feelings? Let me know.


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